by Jonas Saul
A taxi pulled up and the driver got out to open their door.
Once they were seated, Sarah said, “What do you mean by that?”
“One second,” Kierian said to her, his finger raised. The driver had said something in Italian that was unintelligible to her. Kierian leaned forward and said, “Per Termini, per favore.”
“You know Italian?” Sarah said.
“A little.”
The driver pulled away from the curb, jerked around a couple of parked vans and a bus that was backing up, jumped a speed bump, and turned up a ramp to exit the airport.
If the cowboy was watching them, he would have a hard time following them now.
“Wow, what’s the hurry?” Sarah asked.
“This is Italy, Sarah. You’ll get used to it.”
“Not sure about that.” The front windows were down, the wind creating a cacophony in the backseat. Sarah’s eyes were tired and dry. She rubbed them and bumped Kierian’s arm to get his attention.
“Are you concerned about the warning?”
He chuckled. “Of course I am.” He leaned in close even though the driver wouldn’t be able to hear them over the wind. “But no one knows we’re here. Makes the threat useless. As far as anyone’s concerned, you and I just dropped off the map. Last known location was Toronto. That’s all they have.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “What about Aaron? Is that why he’s disappeared, too?”
“I thought Sheila told you what she found out on the plane.”
“She did, which amounted to the Toronto Police knowing nothing about him, yet I was on the phone when they attacked him. There are a lot of puzzle pieces and none of them are fitting. I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be doing here.”
He tapped her leg in reassurance. She almost smacked his hand away.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “A good night’s sleep, a change of clothes, a good Italian meal, and we’ll sit down and go over everything I know about Marconi. We’ll get a car, tour Rome for a week, and report back to the Hoover building what we’ve discovered. That’s it. We’ll fly home after that.”
“Somehow I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”
They were on a two-lane highway leading into Rome. The driver answered his phone and spoke rapidly in Italian, gesturing with his hands while driving like a lunatic.
“This is normal?” Sarah asked as the driver swerved between cars.
Kierian nodded.
Sarah wished she didn’t have to deal with Sam Marconi so she could enjoy Italy more. The food, the wine, the historical sites. Maybe a tour of the Coliseum, the Fontana Di Trevi, or the Pantheon.
Maybe one day she would return to Italy with Aaron. Then they could enjoy it together.
As long as he was still alive.
Chapter 6
Aaron had been shot before. He was no stranger to the pain and physiotherapy involved in adjusting back to a regular life and the difficulties involved with that. As a physical, athletic individual who teaches martial arts in his own studio, spending month after month in a wheelchair during his recovery a few years ago proved brutal after being shot by a British madman.
That was why when the authorities opened fire, he dove to the cement, rolled halfway under Kierian’s Impala and covered his head. When the gunfire stopped, rough hands dragged him out from under the car. Cuffs were violently slapped on him and he was manhandled to the back of a police cruiser.
Now, hours later, he had time to think, time to decide what to do. They had left him in a square holding cell. It was more like a little room with a bench along the back wall than a jail with bars. The door sported a small square viewing window and the walls were bricks painted a light yellow.
They had allowed him the use of the phone to call a lawyer, but the officer who brought him to the phone had to dial for him and the number had to be verified as a lawyer’s office before the phone would be given to Aaron.
What if he had a brother for a lawyer and wanted to call him at home? What if his father was a lawyer?
It didn’t make sense. None of his rights were being violated as far as he could tell, but something wasn’t adding up.
Hang with Sarah for one week and you’ll never trust another cop.
Aaron’s own experience with the authorities hadn’t always been perfect. When his sister had gone missing, they were slow to act. When it really mattered, they hadn’t been there for him.
A knock on the door jolted him. He sat up straight as the door opened. It was the same cop who let him use the phone.
“Your lawyer’s here. Come on. Get up.”
Aaron was escorted through the police station to a room with a rectangular table and a chair on either side. Michael Frederick, his lawyer, was seated at the table.
“Frederick,” Aaron said.
“Stevens.”
The door shut softly, the officer standing with his back to it.
“Can he hear us?” Aaron asked.
Frederick shook his head. “Not in here.” He shuffled a few papers, a grim look on his face. Then he collected them into one pile, set them aside and clasped his hands together.
“What?” Aaron asked. “What’s going on here? I was attacked in my home last night. I barely got out alive. Then …”
Frederick shook his head.
Aaron tightened his fists and then loosened them. “Talk to me.”
“They have a tight case.”
“What case? What are you talking about?”
“Aaron, they’re saying you killed a guy last night.”
Aaron’s stomach dropped. He felt instantly sick. Thoughts raced through his mind. He replayed the events from the previous evening. The attackers used blanks. Kierian shot the driver in the wrist. Sarah shot his hand. Then they left the scene.
He shook his head and looked down at his lap.
“They have the murder weapons,” his lawyer said. “Apparently there’s two guns. They have the body. They even have your prints in the guy’s car.”
“What?” Aaron felt his life slipping away. Everything he had worked for, everything he had built, about to fall off a cliff and disappear. “That’s impossible. You have to tell them. I didn’t do it.”
“Okay, Aaron. I believe you. We’ve worked together for seven years. I’m not a criminal lawyer but I came down here because I knew you needed a friend when you called. I can recommend a criminal lawyer for you, a good one. This guy will take everything they have and rip it apart. He takes the best T-bone they serve and hands it back to them looking like hamburger. Trust me, this guy is good. Expensive, but good.”
Aaron nodded, his eyes watering, mind racing. What would Sarah think? What would life look like from behind bars?
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Aaron whispered, his lip quivering. He cleared his throat and wiped his face.
Gotta keep it together.
“Tell me what happened. Give me all the little details. I’ll bring the new lawyer up to speed before he gets here.”
Aaron explained the attack on the apartment, running to the car and Kierian’s help in escaping the driver with the Magnum.
“Kierian works with the FBI in the States. You can verify everything I told you with him.”
“Where is Agent Kierian now? Do you have a phone number?”
“I had a phone. They took it away from me.” He nodded at the officer at the door. “The phone they took was set to Kierian’s number and Kierian’s boss’s number.”
“Where is he?”
Aaron hesitated. “He’s in Italy.”
“Italy?” Frederick sounded appalled. “This just happened last night. How did he get to Italy so fast?”
“He was booked on a flight this morning out of Toronto.”
“You said Sarah was with you. Where’s she?”
“With Kierian.”
Frederick picked up his pen and tapped it against his hand. “So the only two people that could collaborate your story are in Europe?”
“Yes, but what I said was true.”
“I know, but we need proof. That’s what they’ve got, proof.”
“What have they got?” He wiped his face.
“They have a dead body in the front seat of a car a few blocks from your building. Your apartment door was damaged and sitting ajar when they arrived. A witness said they saw you diving into a car as it tried to get away from you. The investigator’s theory so far is you ordered the driver a few blocks away, pulled over on a quiet street and shot the driver twice in the wrist and hand.” He shuffled papers, stopped on one and read something. “They found your prints on the seat of the car and both guns in the Impala you were driving when they picked you up.”
“I can’t fucking believe this. That was Kierian’s Impala. The FBI guy. One of those guns was his and the Magnum was the driver’s. As I said, Kierian disarmed him by shooting his wrist.”
Frederick piled the papers again. “Aaron, something hit the man in the side of the head. They’re calling it blunt force trauma. Since your hands are considered lethal weapons, please don’t tell me you hit him.”
Aaron lowered his head. “He had held a loaded gun to my forehead and threatened to kill me a couple of times. I was extremely angry.” He looked up. “I hit him once to shut him up.”
They sat in silence for a moment.
Frederick pushed his chair out and got to his feet.
“I’ll put a call into my guy, see what he can do.”
“They said it was a movie production. They had a permit and everything. How could the police know so much so fast? How did they know it was me in the Impala this morning? I wasn’t even near my building yet.”
Frederick opened the file again. After flipping a few pages, he stopped and read something.
“Anonymous tip.”
“Anonymous tip?”
“Apparently someone called at five or six in the morning and said that you would be driving an Impala with both guns on you around the time they apprehended you.” Frederick met Aaron’s gaze. “Considering your history with the police force and what happened with your sister, not to mention your considerable talents as a martial artist, the order went out to use extreme caution when apprehending you. According to the arresting officers, you were armed and dangerous and willing to shoot if necessary.”
“Holy shit. You’ve got to be kidding.”
Frederick rested a hand on the doorknob. “They don’t know you very well, do they?”
Aaron was stunned speechless.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get my guy to come see you.”
He opened the door.
“When can I go home?” Aaron asked.
Frederick turned back to him. “You have a bail hearing in the morning. I’ve been told that it’ll be denied.”
“What does that mean? How long will I have to be here?”
“Aaron, a man is dead. They have your prints and witnesses who will testify that you were there. They have two guns found in the car you were driving that sound like they’ll match the bullets used on this guy’s arm. The only people who can help you are in Europe.”
“What are you saying?”
“They won’t let you out until trial.”
“And how long does that take?”
“Typically a case like this goes to trial in a year or so.”
“You’re kidding,” he burst out and slammed the table with his hands. “They can’t just take my life away like that. I was attacked.”
Frederick shut the door as the officer guarding it turned and touched the butt of his weapon.
“I understand, Aaron, but you’re going to have to stay calm. If what you’re saying is true, it’ll all work out. Just give it time.”
Aaron didn’t know what else to say. He felt lost in a desert, everything a mirage.
Frederick moved back to the door, opened it and walked out.
The officer escorted Aaron to be processed and placed into a different holding cell until his bail hearing in the morning.
The nightmare his life had become hinged on Sarah and Kierian coming home from Italy in one piece. With the testimony of an FBI agent, he was sure everything could be sorted out.
But who called in the anonymous tip? Who could know that he would be driving the Impala and have both guns on him when he didn’t even know that would be the case until Kierian handed him the weapons and the keys to his car?
Unless it was Kierian himself.
Like a rigid puzzle piece, it all fit together.
Kierian had set this up. Kierian had called the police from the hotel before they met in the parking lot. It was Kierian’s fault that Aaron was being arraigned on murder charges.
And now Kierian was alone with Sarah in Europe.
Chapter 7
“Are you going to say something?” Sarah asked.
Kierian hadn’t seemed to notice the taxi driver’s erratic behavior. “About what?”
She gestured to the driver and widened her eyes. “His driving.”
The driver had stayed on his cell phone the entire ride into the city while he bobbed and weaved between the other cars. There were a few close moments when Sarah was sure they would be in an accident.
“Sarah, different cultures, different styles of driving. I’ve seen this before.”
“Different cultures don’t matter when your life is in jeopardy.”
“But that’s just it. Your life is not in jeopardy. He’s an expert. Hasn’t he delivered us to the heart of Rome without one fender bender?”
“That’s not the point. If I spoke Italian, I would’ve said something. Although, come to think about it, a slap upside the head translates into any language.”
“Sarah, don’t.” Kierian waved a finger at her. “We’re almost at the hotel.”
She stared out the window. A large ornate church passed on the left. The streets were full, tourists already converging on the ancient city.
“How far will we be from the Coliseum?” she asked.
“This isn’t a sightseeing trip.”
“How far?”
After a moment, Kierian said, “A fifteen-minute walk.”
The taxi slowed and stopped for a red light. Sarah took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.
“Has Aaron tried that cell phone again?”
Kierian shook his head.
“When we get settled, I want to call him myself.”
“You can’t.”
She spun her head to face him. “Watch me.”
“Sarah, we’re here under the radar,” Kierian whispered. “We can’t be calling back home and giving up our hotel location.”
The driver sped off when the light changed.
“Sounds reasonable. I’ll use a pay phone somewhere.”
“We’ll talk more in the room.” He smacked his leg. “Which reminds me. We’re checking into the room as a married couple for obvious reasons.”
“What? When did this decision take place?”
He leaned closer along the backseat and spoke only loud enough for her to hear. “Sheila had new passports prepared in the plane. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Cooper from Los Angeles. I couldn’t tell you before because I didn’t think Aaron would like it and I didn’t know the names until Sheila gave me the documents.”
The taxi slowed again as traffic got jammed up ahead. A large sign on the building to the right said Roma Termini.
“Is that the name you told the driver?”
Kierian nodded. He leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. “Qui va bene.”
“What does that mean?” Sarah asked as Kierian dug in his wallet to pay the driver.
“I told him this was a good spot to drop us off.”
After passing Euros to the driver, Kierian got out on his side and Sarah followed. The sun was dropping, and the fatigue of the twelve-hour flight weighed on her.
“Our hotel is two blocks that way,” Kierian pointed. “Let’s check in, go get dinner, and wait for my contact to show.
He’s supposed to meet us at the room at,” he checked his watch, “nine tonight.”
Sarah followed Kierian through the mass of cars and Vespas. Hundreds of people came and went. It was too difficult to watch her back or to detect if someone was monitoring them. Kierian was a trained FBI agent, but he strode along the sidewalk without a care in the world as if a man with a weapon hadn’t threatened them in Toronto last night.
